Amazing Grace -Wise Project 2017 #tenacioustuesday

Life is a beautiful disaster

Life is a beautiful disaster at the best of times and it is during our darkest times that we are challenged to find some sort of meaning in the midst of chaos. Never is this truer than when we experience tragedy, especially when it is the death of someone we love. So much of our identity, our hopes and dreams and plans for the future are wrapped up, in and around the special people in our lives and when one of them is suddenly taken away from us, looking forward can be a bleak venture.

This weekend was especially hard for me, there is really no rhyme or reason to grief, no magical step by step manual that you can pinpoint where you are and where you need to be. I think for me the best I can do is take things moment to moment, which was how I was trying to live my life way before my husband left this world so tragically.

At the moment, even tomorrow seems uncertain, so it is best for me to honor the feelings that come up as they arise. This weekend everything was wrapped in a blanket of deep sadness. In that regard I would describe grief as being  like the Cha-cha, taking a step backwards after taking a step forwards. Some may classify that as failure or being stuck, but it is movement and I have to believe that any sort of movement is a step in the right direction.

It seems like such a short time ago that I was waking up with happy anticipation and that has sadly been replaced by a blanket of dread. I dread even a day without Kirk so the thought of facing my life without him is overwhelming. I remind myself that moving through the day moment to moment is the best that can be expected of me and at the end of the day I celebrate the small victory that I made it through yet another one. Amidst the bleak despair if I am lucky enough to be gifted moments of light I try my best to hold unto them as long as possible, as it is in those moments that I am able to look towards the future with a tiny bit of hope.

This weekend I had made multiple plans and I was quite excited at the prospect of getting to that point in my journey that I could actually be excited about leaving the house for not one or two but three days in a row. Friday night after work I met a friend and we went raspberry picking, we had dinner and shared some stories over a glass of wine. I was in bed that night exhausted by 10 p.m. I had been having a good time and then all of the sudden I became literally overcome at the thought of never having dinner with Kirk again, never driving in a vehicle with Kirk again, never listening to Kirk bitch when his smoothie had raspberries in it because he despised how the seeds got stuck in his teeth. I woke early on Saturday but I wasn’t able to leave my room. I feel close to Kirk there and the thought of facing anything outside my room made me feel choked.  I was lucky to be given weekend passes to the Edmonton Folk Festival but tried desperately to pawn them off on my teenage daughter. In a reversal of sorts my daughter temporarily took over the role of voice of reason and told me that I wasn’t going to sit around, I was going to kick the ass out of that day and if that was too much to ask for, I could be just as sad at the folk festival as I could at home cleaning the house; only it was less lame. She was entirely right of course and as we weaved our way through Edmonton on city transit I was reminded that Kirk would have told me the exact same thing.

There is nothing lame about the Edmonton Folk festival. It is such a mish mosh of people and personalities that I was immediately reminded of the beauty and the fragile-ness of life.

Life is glorious sunsets, panoramic mountain vistas, ocean spray, sunrises, laughter, dancing, hot sand, cool drinks, loud music,  acne, gas, bills, mortgages, jobs, stress, heartache, birth, death and taxes. Life is all or nothing. There is no promise of a pain free life and unfortunately we need to experience all of it.

Music has always brought people together and we are always aware of how lucky we are to get to experience music live, it is such a connecting experience.

My daughter and I found a spot on the grass to lay our blanket, surrounded by babies, teenagers, parents, grandparents and people at a time in their lives that they can’t recall their age but their toes can still tap out the rhythm of the music. That alone was beautiful and I allowed myself to see and feel that. Music has always brought people together and we are always keenly aware of how lucky we are to get to experience music live. It is such a connecting experience, bringing together people from all walks of life to celebrate stories brought to life through music and melodies.

Irish Mythen is an Irish born-Canadian Contemporary Folk singer and songwriter with the wonderful gift of comfortably uniting people through her stories and her strong and fantastic voice. In her intro to Sweet Necessity she talked about being a singer-songwriter on the road and discovering the things that were the most important things in life, the things you long to come home too. These sweet necessities are the things that money cannot buy. She followed with a powerful song called 55 years that she had written after meeting an elderly man at a festival that had just lost his wife. They had been married for 55 years and had never spent a night apart and after he wandered off into the night she wondered about how that must have felt for him, the first time crawling into his bed without his true love. Tears were spraying out of my eyes even before the first strum of the guitar and as my daughter held my hand I was once again reminded of how lucky I was to get that kind of love, and that grief is love’s souvenir. I cannot rush my way through it, I need to carry it with me as I move through my days and honor all of the feelings as they come my way. I cried for that beautiful old man that lost his wife, I cried for Kirk, I cried for me and my children and our families and friends and I cried for people that I didn’t even know that would one day be faced with the same heartache. Pain is not selective. It is what we do with our pain that matters.

I looked at her with envy thinking that that was supposed to be me someday.

That night I was once again exhausted and I faced the same difficult morning; not wanting or ready to face my own reality. My daughter once again reminded me that we had plans for the last day of Folk Festival and that I could be just as sad there as I could be anywhere. The travel through the city was worse on Sunday, I remembered how funny it was traveling with Kirk on City transit and was reminded how we would never do that again. As we laid in the hot sun on our blanket listening to 78 year old Blues legend William Bell I thought of how much Kirk would have appreciated this and how connected he was to music. He communicated with me a lot through music, often sending me songs and always insisting that I listen to the lyrics because they were everything he wanted to say. My eyes leaked all day and it felt terrible. It felt like having annoying eye allergy and your eyes feel constantly wet and crusty in the corners. Tears were imminent.

My daughter nudged me to look at this elderly woman who was wildly dancing to the rock and roll/swamp/blues stylings of Canadian band MonkeyJunk. I looked at her through teary eyes, and my heart did a funny thing, perhaps a pang.  She had white hair, and she was wearing a white short sleeved sweater with brightly colored embroidered flowers, fuchsia shorts and matching sunglasses. If you googled images of smile or sunshine you might find a picture of her. I looked at her with envy thinking that that was supposed to be me someday. I was supposed to be that happy older lady in the brightly colored clothing, dancing like nobody was watching and shining as bright as the sun. I contemplated that for several minutes, turning my attention back to the crooning guitar and the beat of the drum to drown out the breaking of my heart, over and over again. I looked over at the woman again, still dancing as if freedom was her middle name. I estimated her to be in her seventies and I am pretty certain that heartache hadn’t passed over her. In 70 years I am sure she has experienced her fair share of pain, yet she danced as if her heart had never been broken, free from the shackles of emotional torment.

I know if I want to dance with freedom at 70 plus years old I have some work to do, I need to heal my heart and reconnect with my soul. I need to seek and find some grace.

I heard a word last week that is not a dictionary word but Deepak Chopra used it “SynchroDestiny”, alluding to the fact that events and encounters are more than meaningful coincidences; they are actually choices we make that are leading us towards our destiny.

“When we’re aware of our essential nature and the possibilities that are always unfolding around us, we enter a state I call SynchroDestiny. We awaken to the field of infinite possibilities, and are able to apply our intentions and attention to manifest the spontaneous fulfillment of our dreams and desires. “ –Deepak Chopra

I have felt pretty strongly in the last several months that people I meet and the experiences that I have are somehow all connected and leading me towards my purpose. I was meant to be at the Folk Festival and see that woman, dancing like she was eighteen at Woodstock. She was meant to be a part of my journey. I know if I want to dance with freedom at 70 plus years old I have some work to do, I need to heal my heart and reconnect with my soul. I need to seek and find some grace.

Author Anne Lamont presented a Ted Talk where she talked about grace and I searched for it and as I listened a meaning was revealed that I had not embraced on my previous listen.

Anne Lamott says:

Grace.

Grace is spiritual WD-40, or water wings. The mystery of grace is that God loves Henry Kissinger and Vladimir Putin and me exactly as much as He or She loves your new grandchild. Go figure. The movement of grace is what changes us, heals us and heals our world.

To summon grace, say, “Help,” and then buckle up. Grace finds you exactly where you are, but it doesn’t leave you where it found you. And grace won’t look like Casper the Friendly Ghost, regrettably. But the phone will ring or the mail will come and then against all odds, you’ll get your sense of humor about yourself back. Laughter really is carbonated holiness. It helps us breathe again and again and gives us back to ourselves, and this gives us faith in life and each other. And remember — grace always bats last.

 

So I am buckling up and asking for help and I am also taking measures to discover who it is I am meant to be in the world right now and in the future. I am taking an online Self Discovery course by the Chopra Center facilitated by Deepak Chopra.

Speaking of SynchroDestiny; I met Deepak in the winter when I attended his talk on the future of well-being. I also bought his book “You are the Universe.” I was immediately fascinated with the book but it was a slow read for me as I was underlining and using sticky notes and highlighters and then reading and discussing parts of the book with Kirk so that he could help me understand. Kirk had a brilliant mind and could grasp a concept much quicker than I could, I always put things through the filter of my heart and maybe that complicates things.

Our natural state is that of joy, creativity and abundance but throughout our lives we are reminded of our limitations and live within those constricted beliefs.

Through this course I am learning to honor my feelings but to let go of old hurt and anger that traps me in old experiences. Our natural state is that of joy, creativity and abundance but throughout our lives we are reminded of our limitations and live within those constricted beliefs. As a young child our lives and the opportunities available to us seem boundless but as we were educated about our limitations our possibilities became narrow and confined. Stored emotional pain can also significantly limit our potential to create and seek unlimited joy. For instance holding unto anger traps us in the past and clouds our perception of unison and doesn’t allow us to see the signs that the universe is offering us.

I know that dealing with the pain and trauma of this loss now is the the very best thing I can do for myself, my children and my emotional and spiritual well being. Otherwise I run the risk that the pain will resurface as aggravated poison at an equally inopportune time-showing up as hostility, anger, anxiety or fear. My goal is to deal with the feelings now as they come and begin to slowly take those hard steps towards emotional freedom. If I allow myself to let my mind take over I very quickly find myself trapped in a Karmic prison, a prison with no walls or locks but the trappings of my own terrified mind.

I am also taking a 3 day Meditation course at Lifestyle Meditation, to learn to fully integrate meditation into my lifestyle. Meditation has been a go to for me for awhile now, saving me from myself on several occasions; but I would like to fully immerse myself in the experience of meditation and mindfulness and connect to the science and philosophy in a solid way so that I can not only continue to evolve in my own personal practice but I can confidently influence others that can benefit from incorporating meditation and mindfulness techniques in their own lives and wellness.

Often what we are searching for is searching for us as well and I believe that grace is seeking me and I am indeed seeking grace.

Be Wise friends xo

Michelle

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Unsteady-WISE Project 2017-Tenacious Tuesday

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Silence by Photofied

AM I DOING THIS RIGHT???

I am not OK and that is OK, it has to be.

I wish I had a better answer and I am sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

Thanks for holding space for me.

You cannot take my pain, but knowing that you want to means a lot.

I keep reading about the steps to grief and I think I am doing this all wrong because nothing is happening in any sort of order, and sometimes I experience all of the supposed steps in incidental order several times a day on a loop and other days I feel nothing at all, just an indescribable loneliness. I am tired. Most days I feel a heavy exhaustion and my brain seems to have been dropped into a dense fog. Not only have I lost my husband but feel like I have lost myself, I am buried in the wreckage of grief and loss and sadness. I am being honest about not being OK, but that is OK, I am not supposed to be. Society wants us to be OK, spot on, ready to rumble at all times. That requires faking smiles and pushing your pain down into your belly to deal with at another time. Trust me you will deal with it eventually. The rubbish of unhealed trauma collects inside us and weighs us down, bubbling to the surface at the most inconvenient times. So right now I need to be OK with not being OK as much as it sucks. Part of me accepts that wisdom, hope, love, forgiveness and healing are going to be a part of a tenacious journey that I can emerge from stronger and and more aware.

Most people are so great about checking up on me and I am hyper aware that they would probably rather I answer “I’m OK” when they ask me how I am but I can’t because I am not.  Everyone says “If you need anything…” The truth is I don’t know what I need. My needs change minute to minute. Sometimes I wish people would tell me what I need but in all honestly that would likely piss me off. I have heard every possible scenario, I have had people tell me I will be OK in a couple of weeks and others tell me that it will years before I feel like myself. Neither seems right or suitable to me.

Some people are uncomfortable with my grief so they keep their distance. Nothing about grief is comfortable and you can’t say the wrong thing by saying “I am thinking of you.”

I hate how I feel right now. It is all consuming. I am not OK and the one thing I am smart enough to know is that that is OK. I am not supposed to be. There is no step by step manual for grieving. I am right in the eye of the storm and my feelings and emotions are swirling around me and I can barely feel one before the next one invades my space. This enormous pain is the receipt that I loved and loved well and I need to accept it, just like I need to accept that my husband is gone.

I caught my oldest daughter consoling my younger daughter a couple of days ago by saying “Don’t cry, don’t cry!”

As witnesses to other peoples pain we are uneasy. We are eager to stop it, ignore it or to try to take it away.

Pain demands to be felt. There are valuable lessons in pain. If we do not allow our pain we either unknowingly pass our pain along to others or it manifests in our body in other ways, as sickness or physical pain. Pain has a purpose and will help us navigate our way through grief and loss. Unfortunately there is no shortcut, we cannot navigate around pain, the only way is through.

Death is not the only type of loss. Break-ups, loss of a job, loss of self in an abusive relationship, loss of confidence due to bullying, loss of trust due to abuse or a traumatic experience are just a few of the things that I can think of that can spiral us into grief. Whatever you are surviving right now touch it, feel it, make friends with it, learn from it. You may not be OK today or tomorrow but the right step today, no matter how small will provide you with the hope to emerge from your pain with everything you need for a good life intact.

My late husband Kirk said “Life is like a heavy weight boxer, you just need to keep swinging!”

Lets keep swinging.

I am unsteady and uncertain but holding on.

~Michelle

 

 

 

Seasons in the Sun-W.I.S.E. Project 2017 #tenacioustuesday

I have a thousand things that I want to do today but my mind is incapable of sifting through them and putting them in any sort of order. I got up today and showered, I put clothes on, I fed the dogs, I diffused some essential oils, put in a load of laundry, washed dishes, swept the family room, read one page of a book several times and listened to Brené Brown’s Rising Strong as a spiritual practice on audible, I also opened my computer. It is noon on Sunday. It may not seem like much and it is certainly not all that I had planned to do when I was driving home from work on Friday. For some reason in those moments when I was driving down the road I had a sense that I could spend the weekend doing all sorts of productive things that when I woke up on Saturday felt impossible. On Saturday, I felt immobilized in my grief. Being in the world without Kirk feels incredibly scary and even knowing that we can and will move on and that we will be ok, right now I am existing in fear and I feel powerless to leap over it. I feel like every day if I inch my toes forward just a tiny bit, I am making steps towards making steps. The steps feel scary, though they should feel like a step in the right direction they also feel like a step away from Kirk. I know that my daughters are feeling the same way, they catch themselves in a moment of lightness and they immediately feel sad because we sense Kirk all around us and we feel like the minute he thinks we are OK we won’t feel him anymore.

I have been struggling with a tweaked back all week. It is nothing major, it is from a tumble down my basement stairs and it re-occurs periodically during times of stress. My chiropractor is great and would fix me up in seconds but I have been reluctant to get rid of it, almost as if it is a comfort to feel pain physically, instead of just mentally. It lets me know that my pain is real and when my mind is struggling to overcome the mental pain I know that my body has stepped up to take on some of that burden. It then occurred to me how difficult it must be for people who suffer from depression and disorders of the brain and how that pain over time can manifest physically and make everything hard.

“Depression is such a cruel punishment. There are no fever, no rashes, no blood tests to send people scurrying in concern, just the slow erosion of self, as insidious as cancer and like cancer, it is essentially a solitary experience, a room in hell with only your name on the door.”

~ Martha Manning, Undercurrents

 

Kirk and I were together for 19 years, we struggled through those hard years when you don’t really know yourself so it is hard to truly know each other. I spent a great deal of my life learning to love myself so that I was able to love Kirk without crowding him out with my insecurities and worries. I had to process the importance of vulnerability in relationships and embrace the reality that to love another person fully you couldn’t protect your heart, you had to be all in, and love and life doesn’t come with any guarantees. The beauty of putting the hard work into loving and accepting yourself and embracing vulnerability over pride in your relationships is that you can love someone exactly as they are. You eliminate that overwhelming need to change your partner, because you realize that you are only responsible for changing yourself. When you love someone for who they truly are you get to see and be loved by the best version of them. When you love someone as they are they feel invested in, and a person that feels appreciated will always do more than expected. I always loved Kirk and I know that he always loved me, but it was really in the last several years that we learned to love each other well. We were still far from perfect; I don’t think a relationship exists that is perfect, relationships are just imperfect people that refuse to give up on each other even when things are tough.  We had many tough times but we also had many good times and through it all Kirk was more than just my husband; he was my lover and best friend.

Several days after Kirk left the world I was in our bedroom and a binder fell off the shelf and landed on my toe. I recall that some strange things had been happening and after yelling an obscenity I looked up, threw my hands in the air and yelled “what are you doing to me?” I knelt and picked up the binder and about six papers folded over, had fallen out of the binder and onto the floor. I started to shove them back in the binder but for some reason I opened them. A couple of months before Kirk and I were laying in bed and we each did this survey that asked us key questions about what we thought each others’ strengths and weaknesses were as well as our own and some questions about our relationship. There was a question that asked, “what would you change about your relationship?” Kirk had answered “nothing”. There was a question that asked what you liked best about your relationship and Kirk answered, “We don’t hate on each other anymore, we just love.” If that binder hadn’t fallen on my toe I am not sure when and if I would have ever come across those papers. It was such a powerful memory for me and the thought that it may have never been recovered, either physically or in my mind, was sad. I remember how grateful we were feeling that night because once again we felt like we had outwitted the demons of depression that tried to pull us a part. I can remember feeling so close to Kirk as I was curled up to him that night that I felt like I could crawl inside him. That may sound absurd but I am not sure how else to describe it. Depression robbed us of a lot of time and joy, so we loved really hard during what I called “the in be tweens”.  Knowing that depression for Kirk really never went away, if anything it just became more manageable or he got better at hiding it, of that I cannot be sure. I cannot say with certainty how he was feeling, but I can say that according to what he wrote and how he made me feel, he was in a good place at that time. Kirk also had high functioning anxiety and he counteracted feelings of shame and inadequacy by working as hard as a person could possibly work. He was a machine and although physically he was often spent, he did derive a great deal of satisfaction from the hard work he put in to every task he took on. It is impossible to say what goes on in another persons head but I recall him telling me one time what it felt like to have depression and anxiety, he said it felt like someone ripped your heart out of your chest, filled it with hornets and put it back in, it was one moment feeling absolutely nothing and the next feeling everything all at once, it was feeling alone and overwhelmingly lonely in a room full of people, it was 1000 thoughts running through your brain at 100 miles per hour, it was feeling like you are not good enough for the people you love no matter how hard you try and being exhausted but not able to sleep. Too me it sounded tremendously crushing and I honestly wonder, even now; how he was able to be so much to so many people and work so hard with that overpowering burden. He did though, because he was so much more than depression and anxiety and the demons that haunted him in dark times. He was a father, a son, a friend, a confidente, a co-worker and my partner. He was laughter and love and joy and fearlessness.

My favorite song growing up was Seasons in the sun, Kirk never liked it but he would play it for me periodically because he knew it reminded me of simpler times. He had a his own lyrical version of course that included the unforgettable line “fingers in our bums” and of course I would pretend it infuriated me when he sang it that way. Seasons in the sun always represented to me the easy carefree days of childhood but it popped in my head today and it is actually a song about dying which I guess I always knew but today the lyrics hit me harder than ever. Kirk and I often talked about how hard times really made us appreciate the good times. Would we really appreciate the sunny days the way we do if it wasn’t grey now and then. Lately the days seem to be dimmer and they just fade to black and start over again. Maybe grief is like a season, and sort of like a brutally cold winter where we bring out our mittens and wool socks; only in grief we unpack the memories of our good times and we wrap ourselves in them until the spring comes.

Goodbye Michelle my little one
You gave me love and helped me find the sun
And every time that I was down
You would always come around
And get my feet back on the ground
Goodbye Michelle it’s hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
With the flowers everywhere
I wish that we could both be there

~Terry Jacks, Seasons in the Sun

Shotgun Rider-W.I.S.E. Project 2017

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I was driving to Larch Hills in British Columbia with the kids at the end of June, we had planned a family vacation and vow renewal but the trip turned into an opportunity to delay reality and work on some healing time and an occasion to spread some of Kirk’s energy and spirit in some of the places in the mountains that he loved.

We all take on roles in relationships and Kirk was the driver in ours. I drove occasionally when we were together but Kirk was a terrible passenger so it was likely on road trips that he was behind the wheel.  He randomly and often sent me Tim McGraw’s song Shotgun Rider and when we were together it was one of the songs that we waltzed too. I liked being his shotgun rider and every single time he sent me that song I teared up.

On the way to Larch Hills our roles were forever reversed and I had a great deal of anxiety about the long drive and about carrying my husbands spirit in a handsome ceramic urn, resting in a silk lined box. Trust me when I say that it is just as weird as it sounds and it caused a lot of uneasy conversations and awkward moments between the kids and I throughout the entire trip. Questions like “Is Dad in the truck? Do you want to bring Dad inside? Is Dad going to sleep in your room? Can Dad be my partner in Scrabble? DON’T knock your Dad off the table. Spreading ashes is arduous as well, it requires a great deal of mental energy. Admittedly there was a lot of beauty and therapy in spreading the energy of the person you love in all of the places he loved. It took on a life of its own.

After sleeping for less than two hours the long drive on a holiday weekend was extremely tedious. I feel like at some point that Kirk put his hands over mine on the wheel and instilled in me a confidence that I have never had while driving. I have never driven the Kicking Horse Canyon stretch of highway, for some reason I have always had an irrational fear of it. I found myself sailing through it confidently and I knew for sure that Kirk had my back the entire time. We had been in and out of radio service throughout the mountains but when we turned the volume up during that uneasy stretch of highway Tim McGraw crooned

 “I don’t ever want to wake up,
Lookin’ into someone else’s eyes
Another voice calling me baby
On the other end of the phone
A new girl puttin’ on her makeup
Before dinner on Friday night
No I don’t ever wanna know, Oh Oh
No other shotgun rider, beside me, singin’ to the radio, Whoa Oh, Oh Oh”

 

I knew in that moment, with certainty; that he was right there with me and this time he was my Shotgun rider. Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks and it is one of those moments in your life that is agonizingly horrible and achingly beautiful at the same time.

Bravery, courage and vulnerability are frequent words on my blog. They are powerful words that have a big place in my life but I don’t think I could have ever imagined the magnitude of those words in relation to grieving the loss of my husband.  Some days just putting my feet on the ground feels brave. As a strong woman, who has always considered myself independent, it is unnerving for me to feel so unsafe in the world. There were many times over the years that I know that I had to be the sturdy one but the truth is that Kirk had this larger than life personality and I felt protected, even when he was away. Being in the world without him feels incredibly scary and uncertain and my confidence in myself and the entire world has been inconceivably shaken.

I always thought of courage as doing something even though it feels scary and for me loving someone through every imaginable scenario for nineteen years has taken an insane amount of courage. I thought it was daring to love someone fully and completely because relationships are ambiguous at best. I wonder now if I ever truly considered the impermanence of it all; the question of mortality.

Brené Brown says that vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage are not always comfortable but they are never weaknesses. Vulnerability means choosing courage over comfort, it is in fact the most accurate measurement of courage. In a world where our ultimate purpose is to love; we often get caught up in our own pride and our own fears. Loving someone doesn’t come with any guarantees, but if we protect our hearts from feeling discomfort we also shelter them from joy. Loving my husband, not just when things were great or during the difficult times, but now when I can only put my love out into the world without any expectation of getting it back; is possibly the most vulnerable I have ever been.

I feel an unthinkable emptiness that I cannot begin to describe. One of the last things that Kirk said to me was to hurry home so that we could curl up and watch a movie. I want to curl up with him so bad and right now it doesn’t feel like that feeling will ever go away. I feel incredibly robbed. Depression; the thief of joy has stolen my lover and my very best friend.

Today; July 13th , we would have celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary, boasting almost 19 years together. We would have posted a vacation picture announcing our vow renewal and talked to each other, as we did every year; about how grateful we were to have made it through all the struggles. I have always believed that you are lucky if you find one truly special person in your lifetime that changes and challenges you. Whether or not that relationship lasts you come out of it with wisdom. Kirk was one of those truly special people that challenged me, loved me, taught me and believed in me. Even the struggles, the tears, the hard lessons and the endless efforts were bound in love.

The result of that type of passionate love and enduring friendship is crippling heartbreak.

We had plans, we had Netflix series to finish, movies we wanted to see, children to raise, grandchildren to spoil, places we wanted to go and so much love to give! There was a homemade potato salad in the fridge that Kirk was so excited to eat with his barbequed hamburgers. It feels like my life is suspended in mid air!

My heart and soul hurts for all the memories we didn’t get to make and all of the milestones to come that our kids will long for their Dad.

I wouldn’t trade a second of our time together; even the struggles we shared; but right now, I can only take baby steps. I am not prepared for any big steps that will take me further away from the love of my life and right now it takes all my strength just to be present.

I know that sadness will linger in our lives but eventually it will be mingled with occasional laughter and happy times; even though right now it feels far away.

Broken hearts take time to heal. It wouldn’t be right or honest of me to pretend otherwise. I have decided that the very best I can do today is to acknowledge the sadness and pain that lives inside me and resides all around me,  not to try to fill the empty spaces or ease the discomfort. I have decided to simply allow my self to move through this at my own pace; knowing that there will be good days and bad days and that one day I will be ok. My girls will be ok.

Grief is not a journey that you can walk in a day and this is not a race anyway!

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THE SHACK

The Shack/The Missy Project

The Shack

Where Tragedy Confronts Eternity

The Shack is not a book I would normally buy because it confronts the grief of a father (Mack) after the brutal murder of his young daughter. Having daughters it is a subject matter that I would normally back away from. I was with Haley at her School Book Fair and something drew me to it. I picked it up and put it down several times before deciding to take it home and spend an evening curled up reading.

The Shack confronts grief and heartache in a very real and relatable way. It explores the power of forgiveness, faith, hope, grace and love. It asks questions, it helps you seek and find answers, it shows you beauty and truth and for me reinforced some things that I believed to be true.

The Shack wrestles with the timeless question “Where is God in a world so filled with unspeakable pain?”

I became absorbed in this book and I found that the answers that Mack was seeking were often to questions I had asked myself. It took me on a brilliant journey, both compelling and daring, shining a spotlight on things we all struggle with, our faith, our beliefs, our shortcomings…

From beginning to end it painted a vivid picture of human emotion. Sometimes wonderfully eloquent and others deceptive and ugly.

I was captivated, I cried, I was angry, I was justified, I was redeemed, I passed judgment in haste, and I was enlightened.

It is a book that will weave it’s way into your heart and fill up all the cold and empty spaces. I believe in one way or another it will have an impact on you. Powerfully clarifying and gracefully simple, if you read it, you will be changed.

I felt compelled to join the Missy Project to get the word out about this fascinating tale. If you have read let me know what you thought or give it a read and let me know.

Michelle

The Shack/Missy project

LOVE HURTS

Tuesday August 21 1990 is the day I lost my father. 23 long years ago that in a lot of ways seem like yesterday. Sometimes I don’t remember why I walked into a room but I remember everything about that day, one of the most horrible days of my life. I am not going to elaborate too much in this post because I have written about that day, if you haven’t read you can read it below.

https://michd74.com/category/adoption-2/thousand-acre-heart/page/4/

My daughter asked me last night what were my biggest fears and I said death and traffic circles. The biggest reason we fear something is that we don’t understand.

There is a quote I like from Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie

“Death ends a life, not a relationship”

My dad will always be my dad, nothing will ever change that. I think a lot of the grieving process is so painful because we are hurting for the person that was taken from us when in reality they have gone on to a better place. It’s the living, us that are left behind to pick up the pieces of our broken hearts and learn to love and laugh again that suffer and lose ourselves in grief. We often shun the things that can help us like friends, family and faith in God. I know that I locked up my heart for a long time and shut out God and light in my life. We think we are protecting our hearts from further pain when in reality we are protecting ourselves from love. LOVE HURTS. Anything that can bring us great joy has the potential to bring us great pain. Loving is one of the most courageous things we can do. I still fear death but I am trying to understand that death is a part of the inevitable circle of life. Today I am trying really hard not to remember that day but to remember the good times and the memories that death cannot take away. I will probably listen to some sad songs and cry a little and maybe listen to some of my dads old favorites and dance around like a fool.

“Love Hurts”

Love hurts, love scars, love wounds
And mars, any heart
Not tough or strong enough
To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain
Love is like a cloud
Holds a lot of rain
Love hurts……ooh, ooh love hurts

I’m young, I know, but even so
I know a thing or two
And I learned from you
I really learned a lot, really learned a lot
Love is like a flame
It burns you when it’s hot
Love hurts……ooh, ooh love hurts

Some fools think of happiness
Blissfulness, togetherness
Some fools fool themselves I guess
They’re not foolin’ me

[1] I know it isn’t true, I know it isn’t true
Love is just a lie
Made to make you blue
Love hurts……ooh, ooh love hurts
ooh, ooh love hurts

A Thousand Acre Heart-Part Four

There is so much angst involved in adoption and I think just as much in a reunion. If affects everyone involved in a different way. I worried a lot about the wonderful woman who raised Jeff as her son. As a parent myself I couldn’t help but put myself in her position and that caused me a lot of stress. I was happy for me but sad for her. I also worried about his sister Natalie. Natalie is Jeff’s younger sister. She came along four years after her big brother. What a blessing to a family that had had problems conceiving and adopted and then four years later were blessed with a pregnancy and special baby girl. I have two brothers and I think the relationship between a brother and sister can be so full of love but also fiercely protective so I worried about how Natalie would react to not only finding out that her brother was adopted but also to finding out that he was going to meet a whole other family and two little sisters. Jeff has always spoken so highly of Natalie and though we have never met I feel that she is a part of us and I adore her. Proving herself to be such a remarkable young lady Natalie sent me a very sweet message this morning and agreed that I could share it.

Natalie Matthews

Hey michelle! I just read your blog. I just wanted to tell you it is absolutely beautiful. Its also very courageous of you to share. I want to thank you for blessing me and my family with jeff. Hes the best brother I could have dreamed of. I can’t imagine what life would have been like for me without him..he has taught me the meaning of kindness,positivity,friendship and so much more which are all priceless and will forever be a part of my heart. I also cant imagine the heartache you must have felt… I know you know everything happens for a reason, jeff has been lucky enough to experience love from not just one but two families and I thank you for that. I have a huge amount of admiration and respect for you, and just felt the need to tell you. i hope this brightens your day because you deserve it. You’re a great person michelle, i look forward to meeting you in april. Xo

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To continue somewhat how I left off my Dad’s death was obviously a huge blow to my family and one thing right after the other for me. A lot of that time seems like a blur to me. I can only describe the feeling as numb. The days seemed so long and I longed for bedtime but couldn’t sleep. When we were planning the funeral we really pulled together as a family. I remember silly stuff like picking out the casket and my oldest brother Mike wanted the most expensive one. He wanted to send Dad out like Elvis. The reason this struck me as funny is because Mike is the frugal one in the family. We all put different values on different things and for some reason that was very important to him. We did not buy the $17, 000 casket…sorry Dad! Funerals are an odd business. I think people should spend their money in life and not so much on death. It is pretty damn expensive to die. It seems to me that focusing on the funeral was the only thing that really kept us together. I was overwhelmed at the funeral. We had an open casket and my Dad was wearing his signature grin. It looked like he was playing a silly prank and he was going to open his eyes and say “just joking” because he looked so lifelike (at least to me) I remember putting a rose on his chest and trying to hold his hand. It was cold and hard. Not at all like holding your father’s hand should feel. I remember a lot of people were there. I saw a lot of friends there. They had all those little side rooms open and full of people. Seeing my baby’s father there near broke me. We had always remained friends and I needed him there that day. I know the songs they played were that Old Rugged Cross and Amazing Grace. My dad loved those. His family was very musical and though my Dad didn’t play any instruments he liked to sing. What else can you say about a funeral? You get to see a lot of special people at the same place that say wonderful things about your deceased loved one and then when it is over and everyone goes back to their  everyday lives there is this huge void. It’s ironic the memories that are triggered during this process that you don’t normally think about. It was a sunny August day so the burial was immediately following the funeral at Pine Grove Cemetery in Stewiacke where my Dad grew up. The family stands in a line and people walk through to pay their respects and a relative of my Dad stops to talk. She mistakes my friend Cheryl for me. I know Cheryl tried to correct her but the lady wasn’t catching on. She raved about my Dad and how she hadn’t seen me (but it wasn’t me) for years and how beautiful I was (but it wasn’t me). It was a little thing but I remember feeling upset by it. I think in that moment I wanted be recognized as his daughter because I was proud to be that and I wanted to hear all the glowing things she had to say.

When the burial was over a lot of people came to our house to mingle. My brothers and I just disappeared. I just went to my room. I was done with niceties. Till this day I apologize for leaving my Mom to deal with all those people. If it was up to me I would have told them all to get out. Maybe my Mom got some solace out of their company but I just had an overwhelming need to be alone. Then when I was alone I was numb. If you recall I had started dating a guy the day before my Dad died. You would think that it wouldn’t have worked out but it did for over four years. I was talking to a friend today and she said she thought we were fantastic together and we were for quite some time. I was thinking back to some of the times we shared and those first couple of years must have been hard for him. I had migraines. I had them before dad died and they just got progressively worse. The doctor misdiagnosed me with depression and gave me these pills that made me so messed up that I had a hard time putting my socks on for school in the morning. My Grampy Miller, my Moms Dad was a godsend. My Mom didn’t drive and he drove in several times a week from Noel ( about forty minutes from our house) and he took me to all of my appointments in the city (another forty minutes away). They finally got the migraines under control and not long after  I went through this spell where I just wanted to sleep constantly. I couldn’t get enough sleep. That was probably the depression kicking in but the doctor suggested I might have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and recommended that I get lots of rest. Ironic. How I ever kept a boyfriend through this I will never know but writing this I feel like I owe him a HUGE amount of thanks.

Shortly after Dad passed away my Mom called me downstairs and this lady from the church was there and wanted to have a talk with me. The first thing she said to me was something about god. Well I wasn’t happy with that. I told her that I had given up a baby and then GOD took my Dad away and I didn’t want to talk about GOD! I said to her “How can you talk to me about God. I am sixteen. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. What kind of God would do that to me” There my problems with God were born. My poor Mom. 32 years old and dealing with three  grieving teenagers and her own pain. Thank God she had her family. They are the most amazing people and they are all very close. In the fall my Grampy sat everyone down for a very polite and direct conversation about how he was dying of cancer. I was in disbelief , he seemed perfectly healthy to me. I didn’t really believe it was true. The events all seemed to happen really quickly. His last days in the hospital were rough. I got to see this man who symbolized strength to me, who served in two wars, who got up at the break of dawn everyday no matter what,reduced to skin on bones and he couldn’t communicate. For three days he was in and out and he rambled. Very rarely did you pick out anything coherent. I assume it was the drugs they gave him to keep him comfortable. I wanted to be there every waking moment. As much for me as him. I was going to say goodbye properly. I was sitting right beside his bed, I didn’t want to leave even to pee and the nurse cautioned us that we were not to show any emotion. Then after three days of rambling my grandfather grabbed my hand, looked me straight in the eye and said as plain as day “It won’t be long now!” I bolted from the room in tears. How could I not show emotion? My grandfather just told me he was going to die soon. My mom asked my boyfriend to take me home to get some rest and somewhere between the hospital  and my house Grampy passed away. It was really hard to see someone you love suffer and deteriorate. I think in seeing that my damaged relationship with God and faith was a bit restored. I felt that god gave me that opportunity to say goodbye but also showed me that sometimes the other way is best.

The strength and love of my Mom and her family is the only thing that got us all through that time. We were already grieving and now we were trying to cope with another huge loss. Grampy was laid to rest in November, as per his wishes had a very simple, private burial. The family gathered together at Grammies’ house for Christmas that year. It was a nice thing for us all to be together and share “remember when” stories and memories of Grampy and Dad. My Dad loved Christmas. He always had us up bright and early so it was a day we really felt his void. After the present opening was done we all retreated  to our own quiet room to be by ourselves. We were a family with a lot of love to share but we were facing a lot of sadness.

To be continued.

Jerry David Watson
My Dad as a boy
Jerry David Watson
My Grampy Harry Miller

For my brothers. Live your life for today, not for someday. Love you xo